Angel (Of Death)
by Shamelessly Radiant
Summary: [Death/Elisabeth] "You forget, Elisabeth, that I am no mere man. But", he runs his hands over her body slowly, with languid movements, and she arches against him. She feels his smile against her ear: "I'm willing to make an exception… for you… tonight." (Set after Sisi issues her ultimatum: She asks Death to stay, and he is most willing to comply with her wishes.)


**A/N:** This turned out less smutty than I wanted it to... but well, yeah, the muse gets what the muse wants. Anyhow... If Death looks like Mark Seibert, and acts like Uwe Kröger,/Stanley Burleson (in the 1999/2002 versions) oh my god.

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Gathered in his arms as she is, his touch burning, his body so hot and yet so cold at the same time, his lips pause a hairbreadth away from hers. "Elisabeth," he whispers, his lips folding possessively around her name and this is the wake-up call she needs.

"No!" She breathes out as she pushes him away, "no. I'm too young to die! I'm too young to give up."

Rejected again. Angry, he turns his back to her, starts to fade.

"No, wait. Please, stay." It is out before she knows it, and she shrinks back, twisting her hands fretfully.

He turns towards her slowly, his eyes burning. "You cannot _summon_ me at your will, Empress." He spits her title out, twists it into a mockery. "I am not your puppet. You call me time and time again, to then push me away. And now you ask me to _stay?_ "

She hesitates but answers softly: "maybe I don't call you because I want to die. Maybe I call you to feel alive."

He frowns, and she sees the moment he realises her meaning: the way his eyebrows shoot up, and his smile turns taunting, eyes leering. Leisurely he looks her up and down, and his gaze burns. He does nothing to hide the fact that he finds her state of undress captivating and she shivers beneath his eyes, wraps arms around a body dressed only in her thin nightgown.

"What happened to all your pretty promises?" he asks her, taking a few steps towards her, "to your pledge to be his and only his?"

"I belong to no man." Angry, disappointed and cold all over, she turns away from him. Suddenly, immediately his arms are wrapped around her, even though he was at the other side of the room a second ago.

"You forget, Elisabeth, that I am no mere man. But", he runs his hands over her breasts slowly, with languid movements, and she arches against him. She feels his smile against her ear: "I'm willing to make an exception… for you… tonight."

He laves her neck with kisses, and she doesn't know if it is disappointment or relief she feels when nothing happens, when her heart continues beating. His lips form a grin against her skin, and she wonders if he knows what she is thinking.

He is gentle with her, so gentle. Barely there caresses, nothing like the groping she is used to from Franz. His hands are warm, too. He is so unexpected: how can a man so domineering be so gentle? He guides her to the bed, softly, softly, lays her down on her silken sheets and pillows, and strips her of her thin night gown. He sews kisses all over her skin, brings her to completion with fingers between her legs and as she shudders in the aftershocks, he strokes her face and lips.

Not to be undone, she starts to strip him of his clothes and notices with some relish the way he goes still, so perfectly still, and the way he looks slightly uneasy. She drags a finger down his chest, and his eyes grow darker. His hand wraps loosely around her wrist, the other on her cheek. She smiles as she twists herself free and pushes his heavy coat of his shoulders, starting on his buttons.

She draws in a breath at the perfection of his sculpted chest, his smooth skin. She wonders at how something so ugly and twisted can be so beautiful. But then, is he really ugly? Is Death not but the absence of life? And her life has proven to be everything but hers. Her children anything but hers.

"Elisabeth," he whispers into her ear, bringing her back even as he asks: "are you far away?"

Impulsively she wraps her arms around him, holding on, holding tight. Without wanting to, she starts crying. Ugly sobs, twisted raw face. She must look a mess, not attractive at all, but he just holds her, strokes her hair and back. And she finds herself telling him everything that is wrong, even though she _knows_ he knows, even though he will most assuredly use this to try to lure her away with him. But she is tired, and unhappy and the pleasure he just gave her, the gentleness he just treated her with are in such stark contrast with Franz' assumption that she belongs to him, that she should give him everything because she is his _wife,_ that she should just stay quiet as Sophie takes and takes and _takes,_ and tortures her son, and there is nothing she can do about it.

And he listens. He rocks her against him, and he does not say a word. "I do not want to die," she says, holding him even tighter, burying her face into his chest. "I want to be _free_. Why can't I be?"

She looks up at his face, waiting for an answer. He lifts an eyebrow, and shrugs. "You bind yourself to this life, Elisabeth. To these people. How can you expect to be free when you don't cut your own chains?"

For a moment unbelievable rage seizes her, fury that straightens her spine and makes her push him away. But he is much too strong for her, and her struggles are in vain. And with her vanishing struggles, her fury ebbs away, replaced by a hollow hopeless. He is right.

There is a strange expression on his face as he looks at her. As if he is being torn into two. She expects him to try and kiss her any moment now, knowing that she'll let him, but he just continues looking at her. Opening and closing his mouth as though he does not know what to say.

"Well?" she snaps at him.

"You are so beautiful, Elisabeth. Come with me. Never worry about anything again." He seems to have made a decision, but his words ring hollow. As he raises her face and angles it for a kiss, he hesitates. He runs his hand over her body, and finally clutches her closer.

She closes her eyes, content in his embrace, her sense of self fading, fraying on the edges, ready to give in, to give up… give up—

"No!" she exclaims. She remembers, she comes back to earth, to feel alive, _alive_. She pushes him away, again. But this time there is no hatefulness on his face, no scorn, no contempt. Instead, something like triumph seems to sparkle in the depths of his eyes, a smirk forms around his mouth. She thinks she understands; he does not want her without a fight. Without a sign that she wants him fully, that she is choosing him for him.

And one day she will. In the end, all her choices, all her steps will all lead her to him. Inevitably, unrelentingly. It is a kind of freedom in a way, to know that no matter what she does, she will be his.

But not today.

She turns away, and _feels_ , more than anything how one moment he is there, and the next he is gone. But she no longer feels alone. And as she gathers her dress back around her, she could swear that for one moment a voice whispers: "fight."

She catches a glimpse of herself in the mirror, and she smiles.


End file.
